rhyme of another summer
by LilyJadeth
Summary: Shizuo falls in love with a faceless pianist – but when he finds out the virtuoso's identity, will his attitude change?
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I bring to you all another kink meme fill that I just finished and am very proud of. Enjoy!~**

* * *

When Tom Tanaka heard the small, distracted greeting on the other line, he was surprised when it sounded choked and wet. The topic he had been about to bring up to him was suddenly forgotten.

"Shizuo, are you okay...?"

A loud sniff, a throaty cough, and a barely audible swallow. A few seconds' pause, and then, "Yeah... I'm fine."

But, as it happened, Shizuo Heiwajima was not fine.

It had all started a month ago. Shizuo's boss had, much to his displeasure, relocated his office, and the former bartender turned debt collector's bodyguard was now forced to take a different route on his way to work. It was a part of town that he had never known very well, so his first time through was like making a new friend: he'd warm up to all the awkwardness and strange encounters eventually.

Each morning started off firsthand with a cigarette drawn between his lips, a flick of the lighter, and a pull back as he sat on the edge of his bed to stare out the window and get accustomed to the view of both of Ikebukuro's Sunshines. He remained in his sleepwear, which consisted only of a pair of worn grey sweatpants, until the urge hit him to finally get up and move. Each morning, he would trudge the kitchen, make a simple scrambled eggs breakfast, and head out clad in his brother's black and white gift and sunglasses coolly adorned. Each morning, as he stepped out of his apartment building, a new cancer stick moved in to replace the old one.

The only break in routine was this new course to his boss's office. Why he still had to trek there when he could just meet up with Tom, he never knew. The new route was anything but relaxing, as he was always on edge and finding new things he would rather not have discovered.

Each morning, Shizuo would grab a cup of coffee on his way to work, loaded with enough sweetener to kill two elephants, and find the office with a decreasing amount of difficulty as the days went on.

It was the first night of this new routine that brought about the curt conversation with Tom over the phone, but Tom never brought it up afterward.

* * *

The walk back to his apartment is not a short one. Shizuo stops on occasion to catch a breath and counterproductively light a new cigarette, taking those few moments to absorb the novel, foreign surroundings. Not like it's a bad part of town – in fact it's almost endearing, now that he thinks about it; sorta reminds him of where he grew up – but what irks him is that it's on the outskirts of Ikebukuro and, unfortunately, those outskirts happen to be neighbors with the outskirts of Shibuya. Shizuo has to remind himself that there is a stick of nicotine and filters in his mouth before he tries to bite down in his anger. He shoves his hands back into his pockets and forces his legs to keep walking.

And that's when it happens. A few sounds emanate from somewhere above, prompting Shizuo to crane his neck up. The tune is so faint that it takes him a couple of moments to realize that it is music, floating out from the window above. The soft taps of piano keys remind him of raindrops, the steady triplets ringing high on the keyboard while a lower set keeps a seamless yet effervescent melody. Just with the first few notes, Shizuo's anger is forgotten, swept under the floorboards with the key, melting from him as he absently remembers that it's stupid to still be wearing his sunglasses at night and puts them in his front pocket. The music is traced to its source: a window a good four floors up, only the raised edge of the glossy black piano visible from the sill, and the shadow of a figure swaying to the light, somehow mournful rhythm.

As if it's not fingers that play this melody but falling tears.

The music swells to a more _mezzo forte_ passage, far more passionate and rubato as Shizuo finds himself closing his eyes. In his inner mind, the refrain mimics the image of thousands of droplets creating ripples in a pool of water. Never in his life had he thought that a piano could elicit such a sound and provoke an array of emotions all at once, each and every one of them tugging an individual string at the blond's heart, pulling him toward the notes that now hang in the air. Their breath is still ever present, he clings to the echo that is slowly fading in his head, and probably for the first time in all his life Shizuo finds himself without words.

But he smiles, because he needs none.


	2. Chapter 2

After all that, how could Shizuo _not_ lie awake in bed?

The melody plays over and over, a permanent track in his mind, as he lies with his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. More than anything, he wishes to know the pianist, who had such skilled yet gentle fingers that touched not only the piano keys but his heart. He unconsciously drops a hand to his chest, slowly tracing his left breastbone in light circles. Beautiful, fragile, seemingly heartbroken, lovely, sincere — Shizuo is certainly no literary major, but he knows a fitting adjective when he sees one, and the song still leaves him breathless even as it no longer plays for his ears. The absence of physical sound creates an empty pang that slowly sinks through his chest as night turns to day, and he prepares for the same routine.

But Shizuo's not going to be so reluctant anymore.

In the morning he stares up at that same window for a good fifteen minutes before he remembers that if he keeps that up, he'll be late, Boss-san won't be very happy about it, and he may have to end up working even later – and of course, Shizuo wouldn't want to miss his beloved virtuoso. As he heads for the same building at the end of the day, he can't help but wonder:

_Is this what love is like?_

The second time he passes, Shizuo practically makes a beeline for the same street, same building, same window. After a moment or two of searching, he can finally hear music again. Tonight's song is different, but that doesn't mean that Shizuo loves it any less. It seems to play with hesitation here and there until eager trills ring and a short run up the keys crescendos. The rare, coveted arpeggios leave Shizuo's heart fluttering around the broken chord like an uneasy butterfly trying to land on a flower that keeps blowing about in the wind. Some of the notes seem random until they all tie together, creating an odd combination of naturals and flats that somehow have Shizuo craving more, hanging on every scale, every chord, every single note as if it would be the last he'd ever hear. Shizuo had never paid much attention to any sort of music as a child, but then again he had never been exposed to this kind of classical. _This pianist._

Shizuo _has_ to put a face to the music.

His shoulders sink as the melody dies away. There's a small movement in the window and then the pianist is gone, and Shizuo knows that he himself is a complete coward. He can answer his question with a good amount of certainty: yes, he thinks, this _must_ be what love is like. To pine — it hurts like a bullet he can feel. But does he love the pianist, or does he love the music?

For all he knows, the pianist could be Izaya Orihara.

Shizuo quickly turns away from the building and starts to make his way back to the apartment, shaking his head at himself, immediately putting the thought out of his mind as he scrambles his shaking hands for another cigarette.

What a ridiculous notion.


	3. Chapter 3

"Shizuo."

He is brutally snapped out of his reverie and finds himself looking at Tom. He can't exactly remember where he is until the strong bitter scent of coffee beans hits him. He coughs in the back of his throat.

"Huh? What?"

"I said, do you want whipped cream on your latte like usual?"

He blinks. "Uh. Yeah. Like usual."

A hand comes down sharply on his forehead. To Shizuo, the action feels merely like a gnat landing on the skin, but nevertheless he recoils. "Ow, what was that for?"

"I was testing you, Shizuo. I gave your coffee to you five minutes ago."

He looks down at the steaming cup in his hand, then around the café. He's sitting down at a low table across from Tom, who has a concerned expression knitting his brow. He blinks again, stares back into his cup, and simply says,

"Oh."

Shizuo cannot recall the events that have unfolded in the past ten minutes.

"You can zone out all you want on your own time, but when you're working I want you conscious. Got it?"

Shizuo nods absently. "Why are we sitting down?"

"Our next job isn't 'expecting' us" — Tom gestures airquotes with his fingers — "for another half hour, and I didn't want you walking into a pole on the way there."

"Sorry," he murmurs, taking a sip of coffee; it's still a little bitter, probably because Tom was the one to sweeten it. He hopes the caffeine will give him a boost of energy, or a least a little awareness. The last thing he wants to do is anger Tom.

Tom groans. He takes a good look at Shizuo. The blond is drinking in small sips, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. His fingers softly tap the sides of the cup in a random rhythm.

"Shizuo." He snaps his fingers in front of Shizuo's face.

"–Huh?"

"You've been acting funny for five days now. What's up with you?"

Shizuo seems surprised. "Have you been counting?"

"Well sure." Tom leans back in his chair. "I want to know what to tell the doctor in case you actually decide to collapse or something."

Shizuo lowers his head. Tom sighs, seeing the dejected puppy expression, and pats the top of his hair to unsettle it.

"I'm just worried about you," he continues. "Whenever you feel like telling me, I'm always here."

"Thanks." Shizuo brings the cup to his lips, only to discover that it's empty. "You don't have to worry, Tom-san."

"Glad to hear it." He too glances into the cup. "Done? Let's go, then."

He stands, Shizuo follows, and the two of them make their way out of the café. Though Shizuo still feels clouded, he's awake enough to be able to know when to stop before the crosswalk so that Tom no longer has to pull him back, lest he walk straight into open traffic.

"Is it the new route?" Tom asks suddenly.

"Hm?"

"The new route. I know Boss-san's office is a longer walk than you're normally used to. Are you just tired?"

He nods, accepting the excuse. Tom stops him from putting on his sunglasses in case the shades put him to sleep. Shizuo doesn't pay attention when they reach the apartment where they've come to collect the debt, so when the people start to resist, Tom has to elbow Shizuo hard in his ribcage to get him to stop them. But Shizuo is not in his usual blind rage as he lifts their dining table over his head with one hand. Somehow, his mellow expression is even more unnerving.


	4. Chapter 4

The classic tune climbs up the keyboard, changing pitch each time, until it splays out, then lingers for an prolonged interlude. An emotional repeat as it becomes more complex, dies like a gelid winter. He hates to think the song is at its end already, but then the higher notes return to roll slowly down. A slight inflection that ever so slightly changes the music's tone, as if it's trying to be playful behind a sad expression. It dies again amongst the far treble tones, only to return more fervently than before, the pianist seeming to grow more comfortable with the piece and taking rhythmic and melodic liberties that make the piece all their own. He loves to think he's the only one who will witness this song played this way. A few chords are stressed in a mourning tone. The music returns to its previous strain as if in a daydream, repeating a few times until it proceeds to slow down in rallentando. He knows it is reaching the end, and he strains his ears to take in the last resonance. A couple of notes that are familiar, the last three, he counts them: one, two...

The pianist stops there, on an off note that cries for a resolution that does not come. Shizuo waits for it, the last missing note, the end to the harmony, but it is gone, never to be replayed, like a book left open-ended. He feels empty, as if the note has left this world completely and taken his heart with it. No acceptance, no forgiveness, no words, and Shizuo quickly finds tears warming his eyes. They surprise him at first, but he makes no move to wipe them away. They come faster, spilling down his cheeks and curling into the corners of his mouth where he can taste the sorrow, both his and the pianist's to share at a distance. He can't recall the last time he's cried, or if he's ever cried at all, but he knows he's never cried harder than this. As his back hits the wall of the building and he slides to the ground, Shizuo breaks into a sob that tears at his empty chest and blocks his throat no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down.

If Shizuo thought the pianist couldn't have played it with any more desolation, he was instantly proven dead wrong as the same melody starts to play again from above, a requiem as if from heaven, refusing to let go of this music. The blond presses his head to his forearm and bites his bottom lip until blood draws, but any and all pain is felt for the pianist, the virtuoso with such a heart but no one to share it with. No one wants this artist, an exemplification of loneliness at its core. Their language, native tongue, very being, is so thoroughly communicated through melodies that Shizuo has now given up on trying to stop his tears. The song is accepting a loneliness, not welcoming but merely assuming, while it tries helplessly to find another way out. A bird accepting its cage, but still hopeful that someone will come along one day to set it free. Shizuo clenches his fist until the nails dig into his palm and break skin with ease. He lifts his hand to touch the wall behind him, knowing the pianist cannot see the gesture, but praying nonetheless, a prayer from someone who's never given a thought to praying until tonight.

_I'm here,_ he screams.


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhere along the line, his hood has fallen off, but he will not pause until the song is finished. As his fingers move, his body moves, black hair shifting back and forth on his brow. As the music allows, he brushes the bangs from his eyes for only a second before the hand goes back to its position and resumes as if it had never left.

Salt water droplets fall onto the black and white array, but he only wipes them dry with his fingertips as he plays.

His lips draw into a thin line, pressing against one another until they are white. The tears recede when he inflicts a small amount of pain on himself, whether it's a pinch tightening on the skin or a few tugs at his hair, until his eyes dry and the hole in his chest becomes numb.

All he ever wanted was an audience.

A bite at his lip when he remembers for only the thousandth time that he keeps himself dangerously close only to be pushed away. He hates this feeling. He hopes that one day, he'll be pushed away and the feeling will disappear, but it never does, and he is left alone with only himself for company.

Mirrors are hollow company, and they only feel as good as you do.

* * *

He steps out from the studio ground floor, hood now over his head like the reaper who never shows his face – out of fear? shame? He wonders if pulling back that hood will only make others scream.

He sees the shape of the former bartender lying against the cold cement building, resting his head on one arm which is rested in turn on his knee, while the other arm is extended out to his side. He laughs, walking to him with a waltz-like rhythm until he stands over the man. He kneels down until they're face to face. A protruding angle from his jawline as he clenches his teeth. He murmurs something to himself, shakes his head, and tries to laugh it all off; but a laugh amidst tears cannot be considered a laugh at all. It is empty, fragile, dead. He dares to graze those blond locks with a feathery touch, feeling deeper as he realizes he's asleep. The raven tilts his head a little to get a better look at the blond's sleeping face, vacant smile reverting to a small frown when he notices the dried tear stains under his eyes and the droplet that's still caught between his lashes. He pushes his hair away from his face and leans in to brush his lips with the debt collector's temple. He blinks repeatedly as he pulls away. _Was that a dream just now? Did I..._

He stands quickly. He can't know what exactly he'll do if he's around him any longer. Taking a long, deep breath, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and retreats to the corner of the street, hanging his head low as a slight drizzle starts to fall.

"Wait!"

He can't bear to turn. He'll see his face. He pulls his hood down and breaks into a run as he rounds the corner. The blond scrambles to his feet and chases after him, stopping at the corner and seeking frantically the figure with the short grey hoodie over a long black T-shirt. But he's nowhere to be found, and a flurry of curses escapes his lips like the angriest Chopin as he pounds a cracking dent into the wall nearest him.

The figure, meanwhile, has found his own narrow alley to hide in as he waits with bated breath for the blond to do something. Keep running, go home, take only a few more steps forward and find him, _anything, for god's sake_ **_move_**. He draws his knees into his chest, folding in on himself, clutching his hood over his face as he starts to cry again before he even knows what he's doing.

_call my name_

"Hey!" the blond shouts, still desperate for an answer.

_call my name_

"Come back! I just..." Shizuo trails off. Hope lost. Lamentation of faith, depleted. Given up.

He squeezes his eyes shut as the tears pour faster, never stopping, mixing with the rain, his fingers clutching at his hoodie until his knuckles turn white, as if his life depends on it.

_call my name like you always do._


	6. Chapter 6

_He'd been so close._

Shizuo sits up in his bed, feeling no more refreshed than he had the night before. He'd come so close, but not close enough. The pianist seemed to want to be left alone.

But that was that.

Shizuo goes through four packets of cigarettes halfway through the day instead of his usual one or two. Tom notices his on-edge mood and hopes it'll at least intimidate those they have to collect from. As the afternoon begins, Tom has an appointment to attend and waves goodbye to Shizuo, disappearing into the Ikebukuro crowd.

"Oh Shizu-chan~"

The endearing, taunting tone sends a trigger up Shizuo's nerves that cause him to snap his cigarette in half. He drops it and grounds the roll into the pavement, turning with gritted teeth to face his usual opponent. His own 'appointment' of sorts.

"Whaddya want, flea? I told you never to show your face around here again."

The crowds around them are already starting to disperse and clear the way for anything Shizuo might decide to throw. Izaya is fingering the knife in his pocket, carrying that familiar smirk and glint in his firebrick-colored eyes, same as always. There is the traditional malice coating his voice like sugar that's died and rotted on his tongue. Every fiber tenses, every muscle stiffens, preparing for the fight.

"Aw, but I haven't seen you in so long," Izaya whines, leaning forward as he counterbalances his weight on his heels. His eyebrows raise and a mocking frown settles on his features. "I was wondering what happened to you, but, how unfortunate! I see you haven't died."

"That's too bad for you. Why don't you do the honors first, eh?"

"And miss all the fun of taking you down with me? How cold, Shizu-chan~" Izaya has his knife out in a flash, letting it catch the light purposefully as he hops on his feet. "So how's about we dance?"

A stop sign thrown like a spear whizzes past the side of his head. Izaya glances back at the wreckage behind him, then grins at Shizuo. "My my, Shizu-chan, how impatient~ I haven't said 'Go' yet!"

"Go," says Shizuo as he lunges for Izaya. He laughs, hopping from side to side, flirting dangerously close and then pulling ahead again, leaving the blond more frustrated than he's been in a long while. For now, he ignores the nicotine craving he's having right now and manages to corner Izaya by an alleyway opening. Izaya reaches the wall, then turns as Shizuo grabs his throat and pins his small body to the vertical cement. The blond tightens his hold, but Izaya only smiles, the corners of his mouth trembling.

"Ah, you caught me. You haven't caught me in a while."

"Shut up, flea!" Izaya's head is mercilessly slammed into the wall, and he swears he hears something crack. A slight wince, but his customary grin is swiftly back. Air is just barely filtering through his contracting windpipe and he can hardly breathe. His eyes, however, glow just as brightly as before. Shizuo's burned gold eyes narrow, and this only makes Izaya laugh weakly.

"Still mad at me for framing you? A sore spot for your little brother, that promise you couldn't keep," he mocks, running his finger along the knife, "and little Kasuka trusted you with everything he had to keep that job, got you several sets of nice clothes, and what do you do?"

"_I said shut up!_" Shizuo's fingers tighten around his throat, and Izaya starts to see spots haze his vision. He flicks out his knife and slashes blindly, catching Shizuo's sleeve, and raises it to the blond's neck. The blade nicks the skin, and the line is immediately filled with red, blood beginning to drip down as Shizuo lets go of his throat to grab at his wrist. Izaya pulls back and Shizuo rips the handle from his fingers, while the informant reaches for whatever he can grab and ends up grasping the blade in his fist. Shizuo yanks back on the handle, and the knife lacerates through Izaya's palm.

Izaya's breath catches in his throat as blood cascades from the shredded wound, splashing in large droplets on the ground and running down his arm to stain the tan fur lining of his jacket. The knife clatters to the ground, creating a tinny sound that echoes in the alleyway. His face goes blank, smirk having vanished in an instant, and Shizuo steps back in something that resembles fear, distantly rubbing the red line at his throat. Slowly and shakily, his hand lowers and the other one comes up to clasp over it as he doubles over. He hears Shizuo now on the phone.

"Shinra? Yeah. ...Yeah, listen, I'm... Yeah, kinda. I'm by Sunshine, just come pick 'im up." He looks Izaya up and down. "..._Yeah._ ...No, I won't be here. Uh huh. Thanks."

And then Shizuo is gone, and Izaya lets his eyes water, and he stares at the blood-stained knife lying innocently on the pavement.

_Ha._


	7. Chapter 7

"Ow ow ow ow ow motherfuc- _ow_!"

"Izaya, hold still!"

"Take it out, dammit!"

"Not until I'm done!"

This is the dialogue that Celty comes home to, and, having seen more than her fair share of TV specials about aliens and something called "probing", she bursts into the living room prepared to battle a slimy green creature with bug eyes. What she finds, however, is Shinra crouched over Izaya's hand as they sit parallel on the sofa.

"Give me some goddamn painkiller!"

"I'm almost done!"

"No you're not!" Izaya screws his eyes shut and leans his head back on the cushions. Shinra threads the needle through his skin again and he whimpers against clenched teeth. The wound is a large ragged line tracing from the side of his forefinger to his wrist, the slice dragging across his palm. The stitches sew the wounded ends together halfway along, but still have another two inches of excruciating pain to go. Where the wound has not yet been sewn, it gapes wide open, the skin and claret muscle jagged and torn. The blood inside glistens in the light. Celty shivers, causing the SF smoke from her neck to quiver in the air.

"Celty, can you hold him down?"

"No, don't!"

Against Izaya's vehement protests, the Dullahan places her hands on his shoulders with incredible force. Celty uses her shadow to replace one of them as she types on her PDA.

[Can't you at least give him morphine?]

"I don't have any left! I was going to get some spare dosages later this afternoon!"

Izaya screams suddenly, dark crimson eyes flying open.

"FUCK, Shinra _-nngh_, _careful,_ that's my Bach hand!"

"Just one more inch, bear with me!"

He finishes stitching, ties the end off and wipes over it once with a cloth. Izaya relaxes, and at this Celty lets him go.

[What happened?]

"Another bad run-in with Shizuo, I'm guessing?"

"In all fairness, it was a semi-accident." He growls as he sits up stiffly.

"I need to clean the wound, give me your hand."

"No."

"Izaya, give me your hand."

"No!"

Shinra forcefully grabs his hand, making Izaya wince. "This is only going to hurt a little."

"Liar."

"Just a slight sting."

"I want morphine."

Shinra applies a cloth soaked in alcohol without any mercy. A string of curses leave Izaya's mouth until the blood is cleaned off and transferred onto the white cotton. He wraps the wound in a long bandage that winds from a few inches below his wrist on up to all of his fingers.

"Done?" Izaya asks pitifully.

"Yup!" Shinra exclaims, clearly jovial as he clasps his hands together and shows off that disturbingly sadistic doctor-to-suffering-patient smile of his. Izaya glares at Shinra.

"Fuck you."

Celty thrusts the PDA in his face. [Why did Shizuo attack you?]

Izaya finally laughs. "Does he ever need a reason? Admittedly, I was the one who provoked him." He flexes his hand and immediately winces. The pain flares out from his wound in all directions, seeming to travel like electricity up the bones and joints of his fingers.

Shinra frowns. It doesn't suit his features at all, which are made to be bright and enthused. "So you hit a soft spot?"

His eyes relax, closing halfway down as if he might fall asleep, as a small smile cradles his lips. "Something like that."


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Shizuo passes by, the piano does not ring.

He is disappointed. Not at the pianist, not at the lack of new melody, but at himself. If only he'd left the pianist to play in solitude, to be left to his emotions. If only he hadn't tried to barge into his life unwelcome. If only. Shizuo swallows bitter guilt, knowing that he's only succeeded in chasing him away, just like he has everyone else. Of all the things to feel at fault for; hurting innocent people, damaging countless property; surely this is the most disheartening. Who is he to intrude on another's personal life? Who is he, _a monster_, the feared legend of Ikebukuro, to think that he can reach out to someone like a tortured, brilliant virtuoso? — someone else who doesn't feel accepted? He wants so desperately to stretch out a welcoming hand to the pianist, to feel those delicate fingers on his own, to smile at him and let him know that he isn't alone in the world. But as painful as it is, maybe, somehow, it's comfortable for him. It's all he knows, and he wants it to stay that way.

Who would want a chance to feel loved by one who hardly has the right to be called human?

Shizuo doesn't go to work the next morning. Not able to trust his own voice to sound level enough, he sends a text message to Tom to let him know he's sick, though Tom will probably see past the lame excuse. But Shizuo can't bring himself to care. All his job is, all he's ever supposed to do, is worry about getting owed money back. And Shizuo wonders if the pianist has the same trouble — trying, hoping, to regain love. But how do you take back something you never had?

Only the loud growling of his stomach tells him that he should probably eat something, but he doesn't feel like getting up.

Later that day, he takes a walk down to the building where the pianist used to play. He waits for hours, from afternoon til dusk til evening on into the midnight. Shizuo refuses to fall asleep this time, sitting at the wall, longing for the pianist. But he never comes, and Shizuo forces himself to trudge back to his apartment.

The day after, Shizuo is late to work, but Tom has no jobs for them and sends him back home with a solicitous expression. So Shizuo loiters around the building, occasionally glancing up at the window. His eating breaks are quicker than they've ever been; he doesn't want to miss the pianist for a second if he decides to stop by. But the pianist never shows, and each second that he waits with hope, in vain, chips away at a heart that's been closed off for so long, only to open for it to be shattered.

So he waits the next day

and the next day

and the next day

until something inside Shizuo tells him that the pianist isn't coming back.

He'd hoped. He'd hoped to know him, he'd hoped to show him something he'd never known, to show him that love and acceptance were out there, waiting for him. He'd hoped that maybe, just this once, Shizuo could have shown someone else that love, with the wish that someone would return the favor. To admire beauty, to make connections, to find passion; Shizuo had hoped that, with his music, he could have felt, for once in his life, _human._ Because no one else deserves to be called a monster, and if he could give that up for someone, maybe he hoped that he'd finally know what it was to love another.

Shizuo Heiwajima, the man no one ever imagined could die, is wilting away, a morning flower slowly giving up the last of its strength to reach for a gracing light that would never come.


	9. Chapter 9

[Are you okay?]

Celty stops him by the street. It's fairly secluded, so no attention is drawn to the black biker. She puts a hand, smoke unveiling to reveal the white skin, on his upper arm in consolation. Shizuo seems to lean into the touch as if he might fall right then and there. His eyes close, emphasizing the gaunt shadows under his eyes. The blond hair is losing its usual luster. Celty is scared: his skin is close to being as pale as hers – it means she is healthy, but it can only mean for Shizuo that something is definitely wrong. It's been two weeks and Shizuo has not once been Shizuo, the friendly yet bold man she's come to know so well. Now he is merely a shadow of his former self, and it hurts her to see him die this way.

He blinks, appearing as if he's both on the verge of tears and yet has no more to shed. His voice is faint and slightly hoarse. "Yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry about–"

She cuts him off by prodding a finger hard into his stomach. Shizuo winces, even though it doesn't hurt at all. Celty brings the PDA up to his face with a shaking hand.

[Shizuo, you're too thin! You need to eat!]

"Celty, I said I'm fine."

[I can feel your ribs.]

She types another line.

[Stop trying to put on a brave face, now come with me.]

Reluctantly, Shizuo gets on the back of her motorcycle and goes along for the ride. They end up at Russia Sushi, where Celty has to practically drag him inside – not because he doesn't want to go in, but that he's simply lost the motivation to move. She gets a separate room for just the two of them. He drops down onto the cushion across from her. She reaches the PDA over.

[You're going to eat something whether you like it or not.]

He nods, dazed, and starts to finger the chopsticks on the table. When Simon enters, Celty orders today's special for Shizuo. She sees a flash of concern on Simon's face when he looks at the blond before he puts on his usual smile, hums in affirmation, and leaves them alone.

Celty claps to get Shizuo's attention. At first he doesn't hear her, so she snaps her fingers, and Shizuo's eyes lazily travel to her.

[Tell me what's wrong.]

So Shizuo tells her everything – the new work location, the building with the large window and the piano, the night he saw the pianist's back as he ran through the rain. When he comes to describe the way the pianist plays and how he only wants to help, water wells in his eyes and just a few drops fall down his cheek. Head in his hand, he never looks at Celty, not once, but seems as if he's in his own little world behind those eyes seeing and hearing every detail as he speaks. Celty may not have ears, but she uses them better than any human, nodding when it's appropriate and offering a comforting hand on his hand when he looks like he might break down. The sushi arrives, Simon doesn't say anything, and Celty pushes the tray towards him.

[Please eat.]

"Sorry, Celty, I'm not hun–"

Shizuo discovers the salt and rice and something else on his tongue as Celty takes her chopsticks and shoves a piece of sushi into his open mouth. She covers his mouth with her hand, urging him to chew, until it goes down.

"...It's sweet," he says, sounding surprised.

[Today's special is fruit sushi.]

She holds out another one. Shizuo hesitates, but eats it slowly. Then Celty types again.

[He'll come back.]

Shizuo swallows down the last of the sushi and is back to his dismal demeanor. He looks down, at the chopsticks in his hand, clicking them together. "I don't know, Celty. I don't think he is."

[A pianist like that can't stay away from a piano for very long.]

Shizuo can see her concern in the smoke that billows out from under her helmet. He forces himself to nod, to smile a little, for her. "Yeah... I suppose you're right."

Much against the blond's usually chivalrous nature, Celty insists that she pay for lunch. Simon wordlessly coaxes him to smile, miming it with his fingers as he pronounces his name in odd stresses. It's starting to get dark when they emerge from the restaurant. Celty says she has business to attend to and hops onto her motorcycle. But she leaves him one last message.

[Please take care of yourself.]

"Celty, thank you, but–"

[Don't do it for me. If anything, do it for him.]

He doesn't know exactly what to say as she speeds off into the sunset. Her words leave him dumbfounded, his own words and motivation sticking on his tongue like glue, refusing to let go and be heard. But he doesn't need anyone to hear him right now.

Shizuo knows exactly where he needs to go tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

Shizuo ignores the burning in his lungs, the biting wind at his skin, the pain wracking his legs, as he dashes for the building, the pianist's hideaway, hurrying to get there at the time he usually comes home from work. He doesn't know exactly what he's thinking; tonight will probably end just like every other — disappointment. But he hopes, prays, that what Celty predicted would come true. There had been no signs of the piano being moved, or of the building being closed down. Sooner or later, whatever the case, eventually he will be there.

By the time he arrives under the window, Shizuo is entirely out of breath and leans his body against the wall. Legs aching, throat dry, heart pounding against his chest like it might break the ribs, he watches a bead of sweat drop from his forehead to the ground. The cold evening air finally catches up to him, and his body stiffens. Still, he manages to look up at the window, straining to hear.

...

Nothing.

A sharp exhale of breath that rings in his ears. Hands on his knees, his chest heaves as it struggles for air. He looks up again; the room inside appears dim, without the faint lamplight that usually shines on the piano. Nothing.

After a few more minutes of steady breathing, Shizuo regains the strength to walk again. Thinking again, he can't believe he just ran across most of the city. He laughs to himself, wondering what the pianist would thought if he knew what he'd—

A few hesitant notes play from above, and Shizuo freezes.

The tune is agonizingly slow, note by tentative note. He can hear the uncertainty, the feeling of unworthiness and stress, bearing down on the pianist's shoulders and in turn producing such forlorn music that Shizuo can't help but be moved to tears again. This is what he's been yearning for, what he dreams of every night, what he hears in his head when he's all to himself. His heart hurts after having been pulled at and ripped out so many times that Shizuo can't say if it will ever heal. The music pauses. Shizuo's breath hitches in his throat until the music picks up again. The harmony line is strong, but the melody line is light, fluttery, weak. Something is wrong. Yet the pianist still plays on, practically hellbent on finishing the song as the tempo and sound increase for just a moment until they pick up the refrain again. Each note seems to echo, hanging in the air like the image forming behind Shizuo's closed eyelids: a light airy figure walking across the water in a slow, fluid dance, the occasional pause of caution as if the dancer might fall into the pool at any second.

Shizuo sums up the courage. It's now or never. He's been waiting for this moment for days, weeks, counting each one until the pianist comes back. Now that the pianist _has_ returned, Shizuo is insistent on making the most of this chance.

Who knows if this is the pianist's last night.

He opens the front door, terrified if he's to find it locked, but it opens easily. Luckily for him, the hinges don't creak, and he enters quietly. He comes in to a dark, empty lobby with an abandoned desk in one corner. Light filters in from a hallway ahead, and Shizuo continues to walk. He follows the music down the corridor and to a shadowy stairwell. Each step up only makes his heart beat faster, and he wills it to retreat so it doesn't drown out the song. Shizuo's fingers trail absently up the cold railing as he climbs up. He's met by a long hallway lit by a single lightbulb hanging from the center of the ceiling by a string and electrical wires strewn with the years' cobwebs. The music is louder now, louder than he's ever heard it, and he quickly finds the pianist's room.

The door is faded brown with a simple round doorknob. The plaque at his eye level reads 2L. It hangs slightly ajar, only an inch, but it's not enough to see the pianist. He's still playing, heartbrokenly lethargic and melancholy, unable to hold back the tears. Shizuo swallows his own, takes a deep thoughtful breath, and little by little opens the door.


	11. Chapter 11

_It hurts._

His tears fall like rain on the keyboard. Everything chokes in his throat, heart tightening and loosening sporadically with the sobs that he tries to keep quiet. A shiver from the cold runs rigid through his body. The bandage wrapped solidly around his hand is dotted with red at the palm, but, keeping his hands as steady as possible, the pianist does not see the wound starting to reopen; he only feels it, feels the pain and nothing else as each move of a finger sends a tearing agony up his arm.

_It hurts. It hurts. It hurts._

His head lowers over the piano keys, shoulders drawing in as they shake. Another long chord stretch, and a small whimper of pain escapes his throat, but he wants to grit his teeth and bear it. As he plays, he stares with loathing and accusation down at that hand – why is it taking so long to heal? It's _pathetic._

The tears fall like a northern downpour, running in salt rivers to rest dangerously at his jawline.

"...Hello...?"

oOoOo

The pianist's hands immediately lift from the keyboard. He doesn't turn to face Shizuo, who's already seen him cry and now wants nothing more than to see him smile or laugh. He turns his head only minutely, just so that he can see the blond out of the smallest corner of his eye. He turns back, away, and stares for a long while at the keyboard in frustration, as if to say _how dare you give me away._ Shizuo is already stepping closer, taking notice of the white around his arm.

"Can I... come in?"

He smirks, finally twisting his head back over his shoulder as he leans back on the bench.

"How intrepid of you, Shizu-chan. That's like sitting down in one's home and _then_ asking if you can take a seat."

Shizuo can't seem to find the air in the room. The pianist is Izaya? It has to be a trick. The pianist must have hidden somewhere while Izaya came to sit down at the piano and fool Shizuo. God knows why he would do such a thing. But when he's coolly reminded of the tears that are still shining lines on his cheeks, he starts to think that Izaya _was_ being sincere. His current attitude, however, is not.

"Though I do applaud that you finally got up the courage to come up here. When I saw you sleeping outside—"

"I never knew," Shizuo says quietly.

Izaya's smile fades. He tries to bring it up again, but the attempt is less than successful. It appears forced and nervous. "Ah, never knew I could play piano? I've been playing for nearly eighteen years now..." He trails off when he sees Shizuo shake his head. He frowns again.

"Oh, I see! You never knew that when you were hurting me, you were hurting your precious virtuoso."

Shizuo's head shakes yet again. Izaya has never seen that pained look in the blond's brown eyes. He'd always thought Shizuo was as strong on the inside as he was on the outside. But now it was as if he could see those very walls crumbling. His breath seems to shiver, catching at random in his throat. Izaya gives him an expectant stare.

"I never knew... that you've always felt this miserable."

Izaya's expression vanishes into one of despondency. He can feel the tears rising fresh again, and before Shizuo can see them, he stands from the bench, leaving a red streak on the keys, and marches to the door. His anger boils dangerously with each emphatic step he takes, but when Shizuo grabs his wrist, his _bad_ wrist, his face flashes with surprise and pain. Shizuo's own face flits to shock at the tears running down his cheeks, then to the asymmetrical circle of blood that's quickly spreading out, seeping further into the frayed bandages stained scarlet. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again, without sound. Then,

"Your wound is... it hasn't healed..."

His voice is a mere whisper, breathless, as if he fears that the wound will get worse just by speaking about it.

_"And whose fault do you think that is?"_ Izaya cries, finally managing to tear his hand from Shizuo's slackened grip. His face contorts, a sad mixture of anger and pain, making one long tearstained image. He grits his teeth, parts his lips to speak, decides against it as he shuts it closed until his lips press together, then whirls around and storms out the door. Shizuo remains rooted to the spot, hand still raised where Izaya's hand had been as he stares after Izaya. Finally, he wills himself to move and follows Izaya with the same brisk pace.

_Stupid stupid stupid _**_idiot_**_._

Izaya had known it would be stupid to come back, to try to play piano again instead of heeding Shinra's warnings, to expose his vulnerability to Shizuo even more. The man would see him as weak now, and he couldn't handle that. Shizuo isn't supposed to see him, he's only supposed to hear. This isn't part of the plan.

Izaya finds the front door to the studio, racing to it now and grabbing the handle. He twists the knob and the door opens but a few inches before it's forced closed again. Shizuo's hand flat on the door holds it firm, and Izaya has no choice but to turn and face his enemy. He tries to glare ferociously, to intimidate Shizuo with those dark carmine eyes, but to the blond they only swim with more wretchedness than ever before.


	12. Chapter 12

Shizuo has no plan after stopping Izaya. He just curls over him, looming, not foreboding but rather insistent, staring straight into those narrowing vermillion circles. He studies his face: the tears that still spill, the clenched jaw, the slight crinkle in the bridge of his nose. Shizuo is surprised to find himself relatively calm around Izaya now. The broken pianist and arrogant informant are in fact one and the same, somehow, but only one of them can be the true Izaya, and he can't bring himself to accept that the music he's been hearing was all just an act.

Izaya lowers his head to the floor, and Shizuo can no longer see his face behind the black curtain. Shizuo only barely catches the very end of his mumbling.

"-te me."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're supposed to hate me." He says it as if it's new, a sudden revelation, and he needs to say it a few more times for the age-old idea to solidify. "You're supposed to hate me!"

Shizuo's brow closes together in concern. Izaya can't look at those swirling honey brown eyes without knowing that what they had was the natural order. His lips part into a grimace as he continues, fists balled at his side. "You're supposed to hate me! That's the way the world works. You hate me, I hate you, and everyone's happy."

Shizuo notices two drops fall to the floor from his wound.

"You're not happy," he says lucidly. "You can lie to me, Shinra, Celty, the whole city for all I care, but don't lie to yourself. You're not happy."

Izaya keeps his jaw tight, trying desperately not to cry any longer. A choked sob escapes his throat, and he manages to hold the rest back. In all his life, he's never had anyone tell this to him before, and it's like an epiphany — but an epiphany he doesn't want to admit. He doesn't want this realization to abandon him, just like everyone else. His tone is one of having given up, hopeless and lost but certain of it all.

"I'm Izaya Orihara. No one is supposed to feel sorry for me."

Shizuo straightens up, letting his hand fall from the door. Izaya peels himself off the wood, never once looking at Shizuo, who reaches out cautiously to catch another falling tear. It's like each one is aiming to maim his skin, sear it black and scar forever. Izaya's eyes pop open and in one quick instant he swings his arm out to bat away Shizuo's hand.

"Don't touch me!"

Those red rust-colored eyes are wide not in anger now but in fear. His breathing quickens as he holds his injured hand close to his chest, retreating back to the door. Shizuo felt a sickening pang of guilt wash over him like a tsunami wave, sinking his heart to drown at Izaya's feet. He's taken the only thing that Izaya maintained as a part of himself, the part that could take off the numerous masks that used snide comments and cruel insults to hide the true feelings that only seemed to fester and burn inside him with each passing day.

"Izaya..."

_Don't say my name that way._

Shizuo reaches again, retreats, but still holds his hand there. He completely absorbs his attention, his expression, his being behind the masks. "Izaya, I..."

_Don't look at me like that._

A heavy sob breaks through, and without another word Izaya flings the door open and runs out into the pouring rain. Shizuo does not follow him. He traces the faint lines in the old studio door and wonders what happened to make Izaya feel so miserable. Then again — how would _he_ feel if he were depressed and suddenly Izaya tried to reach out to him? Who would be trusting of such an extension of generosity?

oOoOo

Izaya quickly becomes soaked through his clothes, down to the bone, turning his skin a pearly, cold white. He watches each raindrop pour down onto his face, run through his hair, and make his jacket and shirt and pants stick to his thin frame. The rain mixes with the tears that are already there and the tears that are still coming. He enters an empty courtyard, void of any living beings to watch as he lifted his head back to the sky. Not to his most trustworthy sources or to the internet — it's as if this once, just this once, Izaya Orihara is looking to the sky for an answer.

His smile is the most ironic and agonizing smile he's ever suffered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you everyone for the lovely comments!~**

_

* * *

Tanaka Taro has signed on._

**_Tanaka Taro_**_: Good evening!_

**_Setton_**_: Good evening, Tanaka-san!_

**_Kanra_**_: Taro-kun, hello~_ ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: Hello Setton-san, Kanra-san. Anything new?_

**_Setton_**_: ..._

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: ...?_

**_Kanra_**_: Nope! Nothing, Taro-kun!_ (￣▽￣)ノ _What about you?_

**_Setton_**_: Kanra, I think you should tell us._

**_Kanra_**_: Tell you what?_

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: Kanra-san, if something is wrong, you don't need to hesitate at all to tell us._

**_Setton_**_: Kanra's been... off. Ever since I signed in._

**_Kanra_**_: Hey hey, now, don't you two go ganging up on me!_ (ﾟДﾟ≡ﾟДﾟ)

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: She has? Kanra-san, what's wrong?_

**_Kanra_**_: Ne, is Taro-kun worried about me?~_

**_Setton_**_: We're trying to be serious, Kanra. Please._

**_Kanra_**_: I told you! Nothing is going on, everything is perfect!_

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: Somehow that perturbs me more than something being off..._

It feels like someone has reached into his chest to grab his heart and squeeze it slowly until he can't breathe.

**_Setton_**_: Maybe we should leave it alone._

**_Kanra_**_: Yes! Leave me alone! Setton-saaan, Taro-kun is being meeean~_

**_Setton_**_: ...I'm just concerned._

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: As am I, Kanra-san._

**_Kanra_**_: There's nothing to be concerned about. I'm fine!~_ ＼(＾▽＾*)

If he is saying 'fine' as in 'finely shattered into thousands of pieces,' then one could say he is not lying.

**_Setton_**_: If you say so..._

**_Kanra_**_: Such a pity! I'm being called away for business, and right when Taro-kun came on!_ (´～`)

**_Tanaka_****_Taro_**_: Well, we can always talk tomorrow..._

**_Setton_**_: I should be online for most of the afternoon unless work comes up..._

His fingers are shaking.

_**Kanra** has signed off._

He can't bring himself to type a farewell message from Kanra. Kanra, the persona he always wanted himself to be — charismatic, outgoing, likable in her own ways, happy and carefree — is slipping along with the last remaining resolve to stay alive long enough to see the next sunrise. Setton and Tanaka Taro, he knows them both outside of the internet, behind their uniform icons, but they do not know him; like tinted glass that lets him see them but shields himself from their view. He is out of place, out of touch, out of mind.

Izaya shuts off the computer with the simple push of a button. If only disappearing could be so easy; to be erased from all existence, with just one button, end it all. Computers probably felt no pain, so why should he? He does not care for the files that were never saved, and wonders if anyone would care if he were gone. If he were to suddenly vanish, just like that, gone with a simple drag to the trash + 'empty' or the blue screen and chimes of death that he has heard from his laptop more than once. It is the end of everything. Digital death becomes real death, and it all goes black.

As the sun lowers over the Ikebukuro cityscape, lit with a life he wishes he had, Izaya buries his head into his arms folded over the desk and sobs.


	14. Chapter 14

_Beep._

"Nii-san. I haven't heard from you. Call me."

_Click._

_Beep._

"Shizuo, it's Tom. Where are you? We've got three jobs to get done today, and I'm not very scary on my own."

_Click._

_Beep._

"Ohayo, Shizuo!~ It's Shinra! Celty asked me to call, since she already texted you... how many? si- seven, seven times, and you haven't answered. Did you break your phone again? They make cell phones so flimsy and thin these days, ahaha... -ow! what... what? Don't say 'thin'? Why? -Ah! Call me back!"

_Click._

_Beep._

"It's Tom again. We need to talk. If you're not gonna come to work, if there's something going on, at least call in and tell me you're not showing up."

_Click._

_Beep._

"I'm filming in Tokyo next week. ...Thought I'd let you know."

_Click._

_Beep._

"Yo, Shizuo, it's Kyohei. Simon asked me to call you, but I guess you're not picking up. Well, bye."

_Click._

_Beep._

"Wah, Shizuo, Celty's getting mad at me! It's not like it's _my_ fau- ow, Celty! Darling, that's not fair- ow! At least save them for after the message — Shizuo, Celty might stop by at your house tomorrow and will probably kill me in the process if you don't say anything, so call! _Ow_, Celty-san that's my cheek—"

_Click._

_Beep._

"Shizuo. Please. I'm not asking you as your boss. I'm asking you as a friend. Please call back."

_Click._

_Beep._

"It's Kyohei again. Simon wouldn't give me my lunch until I agreed to call you, so— wai- Simon— _Shi-ZU-o, come to Russia Sushi, you like fruit sushi, come eat, new special! _Ah, well I guess he left a message of his own for you. But hey, I haven't seen you around in a while. Did you drop off the face of the earth? Give me a call."

_Click._

_Beep._

"I'm worried, Nii-san."

_Click._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Shizuo doesn't move from the bed. He hasn't once torn his eyes from the blank white ceiling. He has no more tears to shed; he's been crying for days, only stopping to sleep for a couple of hours at a time and to eat anything he can stomach down. _I should get up,_ he tells himself. _I should call everyone back. I should let them know that I'm alright._

But that would be a lie.

Shizuo fears interference. If he starts telling everyone how he's been feeling for the past week, they'll want to help, and no one can help. A turmoil of conflicting emotions swims before his eyes, chisels away at his chest, knots in his stomach until nothing will go down for long. Those eyes are shadowed and tired. The lump in his throat has not dissolved since he saw Izaya's tears. _Izaya._ The very thought of him being the pianist is something he had never conceived — well, he _had_ conceived it, but only as a passing, over-the-shoulder thought that he hadn't taken seriously. What should he be feeling? It would only be natural to still harbor hostile feelings for the flea, but now that he'd had a glimpse of the raw, broken-down frame of the informant, the sight had to make him rethink his entire rationale. Is there some deeper reason for doing the things he does? Is there anyone the fle— Izaya, can actually count on? Shizuo thinks back to the messages on his phone machine and wonders if Izaya had any messages like that. Is there anyone who would call him with concern the way several of his friends had?

One thing Shizuo knows for certain: they can never go back to the way things used to be.


	15. Chapter 15

The game board had been arranged perfectly. The three Raira students separated, off in their own corners, himself at one end and Shizuo at the other with the headless rider nearby. Everything had been going as planned — that is to say, he expected the worst, hoped for the exciting. Now, his hand, his _good_ hand, hovers over the board in hesitation. Who to move? Did he make the first move, or was it Shizuo? Does he move himself closer, farther? Shizuo closer, or farther? Izaya lets his hand fall back onto his knee as he sits on the long black couch in his office. There is no spark left in his eyes, only death of something that was once there. He has no more strength to put up his usual masks of arrogance or glee. No energy to get up and take his anticipated stroll through Ikebukuro. Not even the energy to smile; he tries, and fails, the corner of his mouth twitching frozenly. His gaze travels back down to the bandages around his hand, freshly reapplied after a followup visit at Shinra's, but the image of blood seeping through, dripping down, it won't go away. He can still feel the ghost of Shizuo's hand around his wrist and the burn where Shizuo touched his cheek, gentle and fleeting.

A snap of a folder on the coffee table brings him out of his daze. If he thinks he doesn't have energy now, it's further proven when he can barely even flinch.

"There. I finished sorting your damn files," Namie growls, tucking a long strand of ebony hair behind her ear and crossing her arms over her chest. Izaya merely glances up at her, then down at the file, blinking slowly. His voice is quiet and hoarse, but his secretary doesn't seem to notice, unless she does but couldn't care less to point it out.

"By location?"

"Yes."

"By date?"

"Of course."

"Alphabetically?"

_"Yes."_

"By color?"

"YE-" Her voice cuts off, face twisting into fury as she takes up the file again and stalks off. Izaya is left on his own again. He reaches his hand back out to the board, but decides against it. With Namie mumbling a bunch of curses melded together, he can't concentrate.

"How the hell am I supposed to sort these by color?" Namie fumes in the background. When Izaya doesn't answer, she calls his name twice. He hangs his head into his lap, voice low.

"It really makes no difference to me."

For a moment, it's as if his senses have gone numb, and then Namie is standing at his side. She glares down at him, folder in hand like she's just about ready to smack him over the head. He only has enough energy to glance up to the curve of her breasts before his eyes are down again. She manages to restrain herself from hitting him; he _is_ her boss, after all.

"Well?" she demands venomously. "If you're just going to sit there wasting my time, I'll be going."

He doesn't speak for a long time, leaving her hanging. "...I've been giving you things to do so I don't have to dock your pay, but..." Izaya flexes his hand, and it's still painful to move. He winces, drawing his teeth together, continuing, "at this point, I don't care. Leave if you want."

His words are met with a folder to the face, and before the papers even reach the ground she's already at the door with her labcoat folded over one arm. Namie slams the door behind her. Izaya ignores the airborne files as they flutter around him. His eyes fall on the game board again with a seemingly blasé expression. He grabs Shizuo's piece and moves it toward his own, then takes the informant's piece and slides it further away.

_And so the chase continues. All that's changed are the motives behind it._


	16. Chapter 16

For what probably passes as a good five minutes, Shizuo stares with a grimace at the last empty milk carton in the refrigerator. There are other various takeout containers and half-eaten food that litter the shelves, but the milk is the most important. Who would've thought that, after practically starving himself, he would run out of milk in just a week? In aggravation, Shizuo tosses the carton into the trash and turns to the window over the sink. He frowns at his translucent reflection. He hasn't brushed his hair in just as long, and it hangs messier than ever in an unkempt halo around his head. The drained eyes and the shadows dusted below his cheekbones and resting along his chin. He brings a few fingers up to his face, absently tracing the coarse stubs peeking out from his skin like eager sandpaper. He knows that he's never looked like this.

The same music has been playing in his head for a week.

Shizuo tears himself from the glass and trudges to the bathroom. The mirror there is more distinct and unblemished, accenting every wrinkle in his brow, every crease that draws his mouth in a downward curve as he turns on the faucet and lets it run so that the rushing water might drown out the music. He wonders what Izaya would do if he could see him now, dejected and hopeless. Would he taunt him, say something like "Looks like Shizuo woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning!~" and laugh with that crystal clear, surreptitious voice of his? For some reason he's aching to hear it again, if only for the dreaded wish of any form of normality.

Cupping his hands into the falling water, Shizuo splashes his face, letting it trickle down his neck and drip from the tips of his bangs. He stares long and hard at himself in the mirror again while his hand clumsily fumbles for a razor and cream. The water continues to flow as the blond lathers cream over his face and starts to run the razor down his cheek, over and around his lips, back to the other side—

The bathroom door swings open and collides sharply with the wall. The razor falters in his fingers and nicks the corner of his mouth as he jolts in shock. Scarlet stains the leftover ivory, spreading quickly down his now-smooth chin and dripping into the alabaster sink. Shizuo quickly washes his face and dries it over with a towel, turning to the intruder with wide eyes.

His brother stands at the threshold of the bathroom, his arm extended to hold the door open. Shizuo can tell he's fighting to keep his breath from shaking from exertion. A small streak of sweat plasters the straight dark hair to his forehead. Without a word, Kasuka strides forward and curls his arms around him, burying his head in Shizuo's bare chest. Shizuo can feel his shoulders shake a little. He hangs his head to brush his blond locks with the crown of Kasuka's head. They remain like this until Kasuka finally speaks.

"Everyone's been calling me, asking where you are, if something happened." His voice is hoarse, tone as apathetic as ever but trembling just enough. Kasuka's fingers press into his back. "I've been worried sick."

Shizuo closes his eyes. He hasn't used his voice in so long that it comes out as a mere whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"The next time you decide to disappear, please... Nii-san."

Shizuo's hand finds Kasuka's shoulder. "No 'next time.' I won't put you through that again."

Kasuka nods, pulling away from Shizuo and noticing the blood for the first time. "Nii-san, you might want to..."

Shizuo seems to wake up with a start. "Oh. Yeah, right." He tends to the small cut that stings slightly with water, and puts a tiny white bandage over it. Kasuka's standing at the doorway of his bedroom when he comes out. A small smile graces his lips, but only for a moment. Shizuo always thought of Kasuka as like the Mona Lisa, never certain, statuesque yet almost fickle. It's a relief to see not just another human being, but Kasuka, his brother, something familiar in this twisted, changing world.

"The sun misses you," Kasuka says on his way out.

Shizuo lets himself try to laugh. "That's awfully poetic."

"It's a line from my new movie." A hopeful look crosses his mien briefly. "Did it work?"

Shizuo's eyes soften, growing more vibrant for the first time in a month. "Yeah. It did."


	17. Chapter 17

"It's raining again."

"It's only a light sprinkle. You're such a wimp, Mikado!"

"Am not!"

The three are sitting in the park when it starts to drizzle. The drops don't come down hard, but they're just as hot as the day has been so far and Mikado had almost contemplated putting on his jacket hood if it weren't for Masaomi's comment. He frowns when few raindrops land on his ice cream.

"What if I had said it?" Anri asks quietly. Mikado blinks.

"If you had said it's raining again?"

"It would've been cute and erotic, of course, my little Anri-chan!~"

"Say 'erotic' again and I will shove my ice cream into your face."

"Ah, it might help me cool down, though..." Masaomi sits back on the play structure and fans his face with one hand.

"Now who's the wimp?"

They sit quietly for a long time. Mikado has eaten his ice cream down to the rim while Masaomi's already chomping down on the sugar cone. Anri still hasn't finished most of hers. Masaomi kicks his legs out and looks up at the sky, wincing when a few hot drops fall on his cheeks. Mikado and Anri both look up too in wonder of what he's staring at. After a long pause, Masaomi speaks, licking a smudge of ice cream from his lip.

"Isn't there a saying about this? Like, 'two opposites can find love under a summer rain' or something?"

Mikado glances at him out of the corner of his eye with a frown. "You made that up."

"I didn't! I've heard it somewhere, I know it. What's it called? A par... paro..."

"A paradox?"

"That's it, Anri-chan! Paradox. We learned about it in Lit class."

"Still, I've never heard that before," Mikado says doubtfully.

"It makes sense," Anri says, hanging her head to stare at the ice cream in her lap.

"See?" Masaomi raises a finger and winks at his friend. "It makes sense! It doesn't usually rain in the summer, so it's a paradox!"

"Rain in the summer isn't _that_ uncommon, you know."

"Can't you just play along, Mikado-kun? Why do you have to be such a killjoy?"

"And what's this about love, anyway? Who said anything about love?"

"It stopped."

The two boys blink at Anri's sudden statement, looking back up to see that she was right. The rain has stopped.

"Oh well," Masaomi says, "So much for love."

"Maybe it'll rain again," Anri says.

"Are you hoping for someone, Sonohara-san?"

Anri smiles a little as she watches a drop of ice cream make its way over the rim of the cone, but doesn't make a move to lick it before it falls to the ground.

"I don't know."

* * *

**I encourage all of you to please pray for the people of Japan. I don't care what religion you belong to, if any at all, just pray and hope.**

**As I do my research to find out if any celebrities I know of in Japan are alive and well, I've been seeing something that greatly disturbs me both in its carelessness and its immaturity: "Oh no! Japan! What will happen to our anime?" "I won't get my weekly update!" "I won't be able to live without my manga!" This needs to stop. Anime and manga most certainly aren't the only thing in Japan — there are people too, with lives and families and homes, and they should always be our primary concern above all else.**

**I also wish for anyone to do their part to help in any way they can, whether it's texting the Red Cross (google it to donate $10) or getting friends together to raise money. The anime club at my school will be pooling together as much money as we can as well as holding a fundraiser to donate to relief efforts in Japan. I hope that we, as fans of not just the media but the culture of Japan, can give back to the community that has given so much to us.**


	18. Chapter 18

In turn, Shizuo misses the sun.

He bathes in it when he steps out of his apartment building for the first time in a week or more. It warms his pale skin, bringing color to his face and a vibrant shine in his eyes. The sunlight bounces off his dyed hair and blue sunglasses. His suit is cleaner, pressed, sharp. In an effort to avoid passing by the music studio, Shizuo decides to hunt for Tom in the city. He finds him about half a mile from the main Sunshine intersection, about to knock on the door when Shizuo stares at him until he looks over. Tom blinks a few times, as if he's making sure that he's not just seeing things, then smiles and beckons him over without a word. Luckily, Shizuo doesn't have to fly off the handle in a rush of brute strength today, but as they leave the third and last job he wonders if he would be able to now.

At the end of the day, they stop near Russia Sushi, figuring that Shizuo should let the man know he's alright. As Tom leaves, he places a reassuring hand on Shizuo's shoulder and smiles softly.

"I'll ask later. But for now, it's good to have you back."

Shizuo nods and smiles in return. He talks to Simon for a while and orders a few meals to restock his fridge. Simon gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up as Shizuo turns back to his apartment. He's just barely made it to the middle of the street when a voice stops him.

"Shizuo-kun."

The one person he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to encounter today.

Shizuo turns, briefly remembering that he hasn't had a single smoke all day. Izaya stands a few feet away, hands at his sides and putting more weight on his right leg as he stares. His face is unusually blank instead of his standard grin of malicious curiosity. But in no time that smile rises, rubies narrowing into familiar slits as the famed knife appears in his hand, probably dropped from the inside of his sleeve.

"Are you finally in the mood to play, Shizuo-kun?~"

The debt collector's gaze flits to Izaya's left hand. It's still bandaged heavily, but the cloth seems fresh and white. It hangs at his side, swinging occasionally like a pendulum. Shizuo knows his hand is still completely useless right now, but he'll be damned if he's only imagining those fingers twitch from time to time, as if he's still trying to get them to move, to make sound. He looks back up at Izaya's expression. A twinge of the mouth tells him the smile is only going to be temporary.

"Sorry."

He's right. The smile fades just a little.

"Sorry," he says again. "But it looks like I can't get mad at you anymore."

Izaya's smile appears to drop to the pavement and shatter. Shizuo can't bear to see the dejected eyes that he knows are widening by the time he's turned away and made for the other side of the street. Izaya doesn't move. He's frozen in place, watching Shizuo's back move farther away. The roar in his ears drowns out everything else and keeps him rooted to the spot. It's been a minute when feeling suddenly returns to his body and he runs without a second thought.

You only notice how crowded a place really is when you have to run through it.

He pushes past what seems like a sea of humans. Has Ikebukuro always been so full of people? His hands shove blindly at shoulders and chests and waists as he dodges and weaves, all the while trying to keep Shizuo in his sight, his sight that gradually blurs with tears._ Stop, dammit. Turn around!_ Shizuo doesn't heed his mental commands and starts to cross the street. He's still a good half block ahead of the informant.

Finally, Izaya escapes, tripping on his feet as he stumbles out of the crowd and keeps running. He ignores the sting in his eyes.

_Wait!_

Izaya fails to notice the light change red in his focus on Shizuo. A rush of wind in front of his face stops him in his tracks as a truck comes an inch from running him over. It honks as it rushes past and turns a corner. Izaya looks to the other side of the street again, but Shizuo has disappeared, the light turns green, and the knife clatters to the ground.


	19. Chapter 19

Izaya can't even bring himself to touch the keys that night.

He keeps lifting his hands up to his face to wipe the tears away from his eyes. The lump in his throat has grown so big he might choke to death, and a small part of him hopes he will. Dying at the piano — isn't it poetic, Shizu-chan? _You always hated me, you always wanted me to die, one last song to make the final impression._ Izaya tries to swallow again, the noise echoing loudly in his ears, his lips pressing together until the color fades. A choked cry escapes his throat as he lowers his head until his brow presses against the sharp corner of the music rack. Clasped hands pull his neck further down until the pain of the narrow edge distracts the pain in his chest.

The keys distort before his eyes, swirling and blurring with teardrops that spill onto black and white. It's an exact image of what he feels, both in emotion and in his stomach. Yes, Shizuo hurt him. But hadn't Izaya hurt him in turn? This was just like their normal games, push and shove, push and shove until the other fell down. That first night when Shizuo had listened outside, was his push. Putting on a mask and acting as if nothing was going on was Izaya's retaliation. Today, Izaya had pushed, and Shizuo fell.

No amount of music could convey how absolutely guilty he felt.

He can only wish that somewhere deep down, Shizuo had realized that Izaya had fallen too.

Without lifting his head from the piano, Izaya reaches his right hand down to the keys. He can't remember how many times he's counted each one until he feels satisfied when he reaches that constant. Eighty-eight. A constant in this warped and distorted world. His fingers delicately fumble until they find a simple melody that he can remember.

The bandage on his other hand feels like it's burning. Still burning with Shizuo's week-ago touch.

_What did you do to me?_

_Will you ever look at me again?_

Izaya clenches his teeth behind closed lips, displaying the shift in his jawbone for the moonlight to trace every contour of his exposed features. The melody in his right hand is empty and matchless, lonely with no companion to make it sound the way it should. It sounds off, and the burn of his wound increases until it's nothing short of agonizing.

He almost feels his heart literally drop when there's a knock on the doorframe, and Izaya doesn't have to turn to know that Shizuo has already let himself in.

"Why did you come?"

Shizuo lifts himself from the doorframe, shuffles his hands and stares at the floor. His hair is shielding his eyes, messier than ever. Izaya raises his head and absently rubs the line from his brow. His fingers still move in the same torturous melody.

"Was it guilt? Regret? Pity?" He lets himself growl a little to mask the choking feeling in his throat. The music grows slightly louder and a little more forceful than the song is meant to be. "What. You want to talk? Sorry, Shizu-chan, but I'm not really in the mood to talk. There's nothing to talk about, so—"

"We don't have to talk, then."

Shizuo's words cut through Izaya's like a knife. His voice is nonchalant and calm but hiding what sounds almost like grief to the informant's ears. Shizuo begins to step forward, repeating those razor-edged words that leave Izaya without words of his own.

"We don't have to talk if you don't want to."

He towers over Izaya, who can now see how harrowing Shizuo's past week has been. Izaya can't keep his heart from pounding in fear. The adrenaline-fueled _thump thump _rhythm fills his ears and sends the lump in his throat throbbing painfully. The music fades to a complete halt. Shizuo doesn't move, and Izaya's bandaged hand falls from his neck and softly hits the bench. He blinks slowly, then gestures to the piano.

"Can I sit?"

Izaya hasn't heard him for a few moments, then wordlessly slides to the right. Shizuo seats himself facing the piano, eyes averted to the keys and then to the thin hand positioned up above middle C somewhere. Izaya nearly jumps out of his skin when Shizuo brushes shoulders with him, and he swallows nervously. He tries to control his breathing. Their outer thighs brush one another and Izaya's body tenses. His heart pounds so loudly that he can bearly hear Shizuo when he speaks.

"Teach me."

Izaya's words begin with a stammer. "S-Shizu-chan, I've been playing for years, you'd have to—"

"Not piano." Shizuo brings his mocha brown eyes to meet Izaya's dark crimson ones. Even Izaya knows that the streak of gold they always held is no longer there. A pang in his heart; he can't stand it. He can't breathe. _I can't take it, just squeeze my throat, it'll all be worth it Shizu-chan, do it now before I do it myself_

"Teach me the left hand."

Izaya blinks back to reality. Or maybe not. _Is this real?_ But before he can stop himself, he finds himself nodding slightly. An 'okay' forms on his lips but no sound comes out. He readjusts his fingers at the piano and starts to play, muttering to Shizuo that the left hand doesn't come in just yet. After the introductory melody, he pauses and nods to Shizuo, who puts his hand on the lower half of the keyboard.

"Now, start with your pinky finger on C."

"Where's C?"

Izaya tries to hold back a laugh. "Right here." His left hand touches Shizuo's and brings it to the correct note. Izaya winces when pain flares, but it's not from the wound. Still, Shizuo notices, a conflicting expression crossing his face as his gaze flits from Izaya to his hand. But he says nothing, and presses down on C.

"Okay, now bring it up here." To avoid touching Shizuo, Izaya presses down on the G himself, and Shizuo copies. Then to E. Then to avoid it altogether, Izaya begins to explain the notes. A through G, no Shizuo there is no H note, that's an A. How it repeats until it reaches the highest note on the keyboard, C, but that's not important. When Shizuo questions that the middle note is C, Izaya's rebuttal is simply, "That's just how it is now play the goddamn note." The two settle into a very slow, uneven and choppy pace. Izaya's fingers slow almost unnoticeably as he occasionally looks over to see the marvel in Shizuo's eyes that stare at Izaya's right hand.

"How do you memorize all that?" Shizuo asks when they stop.

"It's a matter of practice." Izaya laughs then, a laugh that seems to shake the air's tension. "I'm sure even you could play this decently once you kept at it."

It takes him completely by surprise when Shizuo's sudden smile makes Izaya's heart stop.


	20. Chapter 20

A loud sound consumes their ears when they open the front door of the music studio, along with a biting wave of cold air. Izaya's jaw drops to the ground.

"Are you serious?"

"-lla."

"How the hell am I supposed to get home? I'll get soaked!"

_"-ella"_

"Oh, I'm such an idiot, I didn't think to take anything with me! Stupid rain—"

"Izaya!"

He turns. He's barely heard Shizuo over the pouring rain. Shizuo holds up a long umbrella. Slightly curved handle. Orange. "I've been trying to tell you, I have one. Let me walk you home."

"What? No way!"

Shizuo opens it in front of them anyway. The top is immediately pelted with water, but underneath they stay perfectly dry. It's nearing pitch black around them as Shizuo walking down the street. Izaya stays firmly in place, however, and when the umbrella passes over him the rain drops into his jacket and bathes his hair without mercy. Shizuo runs back to hold the umbrella over his head. _Tch. _He puts an arm around Izaya's small shoulders and pulls him close to his side, making Izaya flinch. He blinks a few raindrops from his eyes. Shizuo forces him to keep walking.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Izaya mutters, but just loudly enough for Shizuo to hear. His teeth chatter in audible clicks. Shizuo frowns as he feels Izaya shiver violently.

"You'll catch a cold if we don't get to your house soon, so speed it up."

Izaya ignores the command, instead clutching to Shizuo's vest. His clothes are so thin, how is he not cold? "Idiot. Who ever heard of getting a cold in the summer?"

A long pause lasts for about ten minutes. Shizuo's beginning to wonder if this was a good idea, but then he's reminded of the helpless figure clinging to him as if he might blow away. Izaya clenches his teeth to stop the chattering, but they still sound in his mouth, a continuous noise that grates his ears. He screws his eyes shut against a gust of wind.

"What's with the orange?"

Shizuo shrugs. "I like orange." An eyebrow cocks up, stirring anger within Izaya. "And if you get lost, you can easily find me."

Izaya pouts, staring irately at the ground. There's already half a centimeter of rain — not a lot, until you recall that it's supposed to be summer. Izaya starts to wonder if global warming isn't just a myth. "I'm not going to get lost. If anyone, you will."

Shizuo grins. "Then make sure to hold on tight."

After a while, Izaya finds himself beginning to tire. The cold is making him drowsy, the warmth next to him is oddly inviting, and before he knows it he's resting his head against Shizuo's side. The debt collector stops to look down at him, puzzled. Sans movement, the rain feels free to pummel the umbrella with abandon. A ring draws itself around their feet, created by the umbrella shielding both them and the ground.

"Who said you could stop?" Izaya murmurs, peeking one eye open.

"Isn't this your building?"

Wincing, Izaya peels himself from his enemy, stretches, and takes a look. It is his building, tall and dark and foreboding. Most people are either watching television or already warm in their beds. They walk to the lobby, where Shizuo closes the umbrella and shakes it outside. He drops it in a bin that other umbrellas call home. His orange one stands out from all the rest.

"Well?"

Izaya's voice echoes in the spacious lobby. Shizuo looks up to see him ringing out the tips of his hair on the glossy floor as he stares blankly at him.

"You coming up?"

In all his life, Shizuo never imagined that Izaya would willingly invite him up to his home. He's charged in angrily, sometimes not even making it past the elevator, but never as a guest. Shizuo straightens the wrinkles in his vest from where he held onto it, and the indents disappear but still exist faintly.

"Sure."


	21. Chapter 21

Shizuo raises a hand to touch the wounded hand that's still cupping his cheek. He slides it to his mouth and kisses Izaya's bandaged palm, closing his eyes for a moment and then flitting them to meet Izaya's gaze. Izaya immediately shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth against the tears. Shizuo takes Izaya's wrists and guides them around his neck, then pauses a mere inch from Izaya's lips. He looks to a wide-eyed Izaya for permission. Izaya's eyes slide half-closed, Shizuo takes that as a yes, and their lips connect once more, soft and hesitant but more certain than anything either of them have felt before.

Izaya lets Shizuo walk in before he closes the door behind them. Shizuo isn't surprised that the room is incredibly spacious. And, for the most part, empty. Tons of room, but nothing to fill it. There's a bookshelf spanning one wall, a desk with more than one computer in the corner, a large wide window behind it (figures), and a door that probably leads to the other rooms.

"Tea?"

Shizuo looks up at Izaya, who is taking off his jacket and hanging it on a rack by the door. Of course Izaya has a coatrack.

"No, thanks."

"Good."

Before Shizuo knows what's happening, he finds himself pinned to the wall, Izaya's hands planted firmly on the light chestnut painted wall at his sides. Shizuo meets Izaya's furious, dark glare, brows furrowed, one lip cocking up with vexation. Shizuo blinks in surprise and confusion. Izaya responds by slamming his good hand on the wall, and a loud bang vibrates the nearest window.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

Those carmine eyes that seem to glow in the dark send a chill down Shizuo's spine. "What are you talking about?"

"The fuck do you _think_ I'm talking about?" he shouts, striking against the wall again. "What the hell do you think gives you the right to walk into my life, as if we never had a past like ours? A month ago, you hated me. You loathed my scent, you despised my very existence, the mere _mention _of my name sent you rampaging through the streets on a mad hunt! You want to pretend as if it never happened? Because it happened." Izaya holds the bandaged hand up to his face as if he makes to slap him. "_This_ happened!"

"Izaya, I'm sor–"

"For what? Ruining my hand? At first Shinra said I may never play again, do you know how much that frightened me? Or are you sorry for hurting your precious pianist? For fuck's sake, Shizuo, think about it!"

He hasn't used language in a while, but each one only leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Shizuo knows when Izaya is serious by the fact that he hasn't used his pet name. Izaya sits there for a moment, then throws himself from the wall and turns to hide the tears in his eyes. But he turns around again, ready to face Shizuo dead-on and fight. Walking towards him, fists clenched to bite back the pain.

His voice chokes, but he swallows it back. "Do you think that if I suddenly learned that you were some... some hopeless romantic who writes poems about how much your life _sucks_, do you think I would suddenly weasel my way into your life and try to be... what? A friend?"

"...No," Shizuo says calmly. "And I wouldn't expect you to."

Shizuo's composure only fuels Izaya's anger. "Then what? What do you want from me? Why can't you leave me alo–"

"Because you're like me."

Izaya rolls his eyes, an expression that quickly turns into a glare. "Oh, Shizu-chan I am most _certainly_ not–"

"You're lonely." Shizuo's words stun Izaya into silence, allowing the tears to finally spill onto his cheeks. Shizuo is tearing up as well. "You look at yourself and then out to the crowd, to everyone else, and you ask yourself why no one likes you. Why everyone hates you. And it hurts. I know exactly what it's like to feel as if you could die, and people would treat it like scraping gum off their shoe. I know what it's like to feel horribly misunderstood, to feel like you're not speaking the same language as everyone else." His eyes soften. "Izaya... They don't look at guys like us as if we're on their level. They don't accept us as one of them. Not Shinra who will stop at nothing for a chance to dissect me, not Kadota or Simon, hell. Do you know what it's like to look at your own brother and wonder if he..." Shizuo chokes, cutting himself off. "We can never be equivalent to them, human. But I believe that we can be equals, you and me, and you and I both know that even if it's just one person, _one person_, then the sunrise looks just a little brighter than the last morning."

Izaya recalls that once he heard that the human body can only shed thirty-eight tears at a time. But Izaya feels like he's shed thirty-eight thousand, all in one moment. They spill onto his shirt and drop onto the floor, and Izaya does nothing to stop them. Shizuo takes a deep breath, chest shuddering, and leans his back against the wall. Izaya cautiously steps forward until they're only one foot apart. When Shizuo won't look at him, his eyes fall to the floor.

"All my life," he says softly as his voice shakes, "all my life, people have pushed me away, and... you're the only one who keeps chasing me. And I try to push you away. You would never even look at someone like me if I didn't make my presence known to you. But I can't stand when I'm too close to you. I try to push you away but you push right back..." Izaya trails off into a sob, dropping his face into his hands.

Shizuo blinks, standing from the wall as he looms over the small, fragile creature in front of him. Something in his mind clicks. Now it all makes sense. Everything — the chases, the games, the day they'd first met in high school at Raira, even the knife — fit together like the last few pieces of the puzzle that reveal was the picture is.

"...You... love me."

Izaya jumps, lifting his hands from his face to stare at Shizuo incredulously.

"I hate you."

But his reaction only makes it obvious. Shizuo's answer is more confident the more often he says it.

"You love me."

"You idiot, I said I hate you!"

He's pushing. It's only the natural thing to do when you're cornered. But Shizuo will push back, pull if he must.

"Izaya, you love me."

It's all a blur. Suddenly Izaya's hands are drawing his face forward, suddenly Izaya's lips are on his, suddenly his fingers are threading through the neglected roots of dyed hair, suddenly Izaya slips a tongue in for only a moment but somehow Shizuo finds he doesn't care. Their lips move in tandem with one another, against one another, and just as Shizuo is kissing back, Izaya's thumbs press under his cheekbones and pull their mouths apart. Izaya's eyes are flooded with tears, mixing red with red, his face only a few inches from Shizuo's.

"I hate you," he says, the sob evident in his voice. "I hate you so much."


	22. Chapter 22

Izaya's hand scrambles to turn the doorknob behind him. Their lips never leave each other, never part, even when the door clatters open and they stumble in blindly, Izaya backward and Shizuo forward. Shizuo kicks the door closed with his foot and steps between Izaya's legs to move them closer to the bed. As their tongues each demand the other's attention, they silently insist that the clothes come off. Shizuo removes his vest slowly, taking his time, and lets it slip off. Izaya grabs the hem of his own V-neck and pulls it over his head, then kisses Shizuo again as if he can't bear to part for a second. His hands attack where Shizuo's have started at the dress shirt, impatiently swatting his hands away.

Shizuo hates that he has to close his lips and separate them, placing his hands on his wrists. "Izaya."

Izaya's eyes flutter open, then pop with worry. The unbuttoning of his shirt is paused. His face flits with a moment of dejection until Shizuo leans over to kiss the top of his head.

"Slow down," he whispers into the raven locks, "I'm not going anywhere."

Izaya nods, blinking slowly as Shizuo takes his hands away and lets him resume. Izaya undoes one button after another with great care, as if Shizuo is the fragile one. When he reaches the last one, they come up again to slide under the shirt and draw it away. Shizuo's eyes slide shut at the sensation of those fingers, the pianist's hands, slowly dancing up his chest and across his shoulders, into the sleeves. The shirt falls to the floor, but Izaya barely moves. He's too busy staring at the horizontal scar across his upper torso; the scar he created the day they'd first met. Shizuo takes in a deep breath, feeling Izaya's fingers ghost over the mark. As he stares, he finds more scars, barely visible, along his shoulders and biceps, and inhales sharply at the faint trace of a line along Shizuo's neck.

"I did this," Izaya breathes, hanging his head until it touches the scar, resting is forehead in the dip of his collarbone. "I did this to you, I did this..." The thought runs through his head like a broken record; all those times he's hurt Shizuo, cut him, sliced him open, marked him with violence and hatred. Even if they continue to change their relationship, even if they put the past behind them, these scars will never fade away. A constant, permanent reminder of torn-up street signs and merciless blades for which Izaya can never forgive himself.

Shizuo leans his own head forward until his lips brush Izaya's ear and his breath tickles his neck. "These are nothing compared to what I've done to you."

"But–" He stops as he turns to face Shizuo, a gasp catching his words. Shizuo's perplexed chestnut eyes flit to Izaya's. His fingers come up to graze Shizuo's face, finding the corner of his mouth. He looks as though he might cry again. "Did I do this too?"

Shizuo blinks rapidly, then chuckles, a smile splitting his face. "This? I cut myself while shaving this morning."

"Oh." Izaya deflates with relief, even though it's such a small cut. He laughs with him. "It's pretty silly, isn't it?" he sighs.

The blond grins. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

"Shizu-chan!" He hits the blond's shoulder. "That's so corny!"

Shizuo laughs, pulling Izaya closer to hungrily capture his lips again, silencing his protests, and Izaya's train of thought suddenly slips his mind. As he steps backward and Shizuo steps forward, Izaya shivers softly when he feels a maroon silk comforter brush the backs of his legs.


	23. Chapter 23

Izaya finds himself leaning back on the edge of the bed, mouth still entangled with Shizuo's as he removes his hand from the blond locks to support his body upright. He inches back, slowly, as Shizuo crawls with him, taking Izaya's face in gentle hands and brushing his fingers along the jaw and behind his ear. Izaya stops and throws his body forward into him to grab at his shoulders and run his palms down the shoulder blades.

Shizuo shudders at the touch. It's now that he envies the piano for receiving those fingers, those light taps and soft, sure traces that die for human contact. They're still cold against his skin as if they could leave more scars. He wants them to cover the old ones until they disappear. Until Izaya won't have to feel guilty.

Until now, they've drowned out the rain coming from the window beside the bed, but the sudden flash of lightning is more difficult to ignore. Shizuo's eyes open to scan Izaya's, which are wide, pupils contracted. He pulls them apart, and Izaya remains frozen. A thunderclap, and Izaya's hands close into fists on his back, pressing into the skin and threatening to break through. He relaxes as the light fades, and finally notices Shizuo staring at him with concern. He knows what's going through Izaya's mind at this moment — _he's going to reject me, he's going to toss me aside, he still hates me._

"I…" Shizuo blinks, then looks to the sheets, fingers caressing the soft silk. "I don't want this to just be…"

"What?"

"…Physical." Shizuo finishes. Izaya nods, the sad look in his eyes telling him that they should stop, but that he _does_ want to keep going. Shizuo crawls past him, towards the pillows, and lies on his back. He pats the empty spot beside him. Izaya's expression crosses with confusion, but slowly he pulls himself forward and lies down beside him.

"So what are we going to do, Shizu-chan?"

"I don't know." Shizuo puts his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. Then he turns to face Izaya. "We could talk."

Izaya laughs. "_Now_ you want to talk–"

Another flash, quickly followed by thunder, cutting Izaya off completely. After a few seconds have gone by, he relaxes back into the sheets. Shizuo studies him for a couple moments until the lightbulb goes off in his head.

"You're… afraid of lightning?"

His eyes close with some strain. "Thunder. There's a difference." They ease open to find Shizuo's surprised yet unwavering gaze. "Don't look at me like that. If you'd known I had astraphobia you probably would've use it to your advantage."

Shizuo shrugs. "Probably. Why do you have… astrono…?"

"Astraphobia."

"…That."

Izaya twirls his finger on the bedsheets. He seems to shrink a little. "When I hear a thunderclap, it shakes everything. It overpowers everything." His brow furrows. "It makes me feel like I don't have any control. Like I'm helpless."

Shizuo suddenly takes the thin frame before him into his arms. Izaya lets himself close his eyes and rest against his shoulder, arms awkwardly pinned to his sides. Another lightning strike and boom of thunder, and Izaya starts to shake almost violently. He buries his head into Shizuo's neck, stifling the small whimper that threatens to surface.

"Don't overcome your fear," Shizuo says. His speech sends vibrations from his chest to Izaya's.

"It's, 'I'll help you overcome your fear one day,' Shizu-chan."

Shizuo squeezes him tightly one last time before pulling them apart so he can bring his lips to his forehead. "I want to be able to hold you when you're afraid."

Izaya stares blankly at Shizuo for a good long minute, then grabs a spare pillow, buries his face into it and lets out a muffled scream. Shizuo barely manages to make out his words.

"Auuugh, don't say stuff like that!"

Shizuo laughs until tears spring to his eyes. This only makes Izaya yell into the pillow even more angrily. When the laughter rush settles, Shizuo pulls down the pillow until it's halfway down his face. Izaya's brows are crinkled and his cheeks are flushed. Shizuo plants a tiny kiss on his nose.

"You're really cute, you know that?"

His fingers clutch the pillow tighter. Shizuo brushes away the black locks.

"I've never noticed how beautiful your eyes are."

"Was I right? Are you actually a hopeless romantic?"

"Nope. Maybe I'm just a little crazy."

"Don't tack 'for you' onto that sentence or I'll punch you where it hurts."

"I wasn't going to, but now that you mention it…" And before Izaya can scold him any longer, Shizuo yanks the pillow all the way down and brings his lips to Izaya's open mouth. His breath hitches in his throat as a tongue rolls across his lower lip, and Izaya doesn't hesitate to kiss back.

* * *

**Thanks to all my readers, watchers and favorite-ers :D To answer someone's question a while back, I'll be posting all the piano songs at the end~**


	24. Chapter 24

They lie in silence for a long while. The silence is so loud that they wonder if they've gone deaf together. Shizuo holds his arm around Izaya's chest while Izaya snuggles into his chest. He can't take his eyes off the scar on his neck, but does everything in his power from touching it. Would he become his old self? Who _was_ his old self? His eyes lower, sliding closed. _Have I changed at all?_ The loneliness eats away at him, for without another to look at he's forced to look at himself; he hates what he sees. Somewhere along the way — the lies, the secrets, the fights, the schemes and desire to have control — he'd lost sight of his heart. The thought burns a hole in his chest, pounds it harder than Shizuo ever could, breaking through until all that remained was a hollow center. Izaya shudders at a feeling similar to a cancer spreading through him.

Shizuo starts to stroke his hair, causing Izaya to snap back into reality and notice that he's succeeded in curling his body tight around himself. Strong fingers so gentle, more than he's ever imagined them to be. Warm breath blows across the crown of his head as soft lips are pressed to raven hair.

"You don't have to force yourself to be alone."

Izaya chokes out a small sob. Shizuo's hand comes down to cup his cheek, wiping the corner of his eye before the tears even have a chance to fall. Izaya's comes up to join him, taking his calloused fingers into his own slender, bandaged ones. He clutches onto his hand as if he's fainting, sinking, in his own mind.

Like a lightbulb flickering to life, Shizuo comes to a realization. He wants to love, to be loved, to be. He wants that attraction, something he can feel that is real, that he can touch, that isn't just an illusion. He needs steady ground so that he no longer feels like he's always falling.

"Let me in, Izaya."

It's as if he's flipped a switch, and suddenly a pair of thin arms pull themselves around Shizuo's middle, tightening around him as fingers press desperately into his back, and Shizuo feels the reverberation of a tremor that courses through Izaya's small frame. Neither of them have anything to say. There's nothing to be said. Shizuo holds him back, resting his chin atop his head as he whispers sweet nothings that fill the air. _Izaya, Izaya… I'm here… I won't go…_

_I can't._

"I can hear your heart," Izaya murmurs, lifting his head a little to stare as if he can see the very thing beat inside.

Shizuo kisses his forehead, caressing the back of his neck with three fingers. "I certainly hope so."

Izaya chuckles and presses his brow into his bare chest. His hands come back to rest along his stomach, playing a silent tune up to rest at his sides. Fingers tap and touch in a melody only Izaya knows, matching with the rhythm of Shizuo's heart. The blond closes his eyes, straining to hear the song, but Izaya presses his palms into him once.

"Shhh… Don't try so hard. Just feel."

It's not long before Shizuo can hear it. The sound suddenly floods his ears, drowning out the city past the window and the thunder that trembles against the glass. He can hear Izaya's song, soft and fleeting, slow, pining for something to love, to love him back. Those fingers dance and sway, elegantly riding along a slow ebb urged by the moon's push and pull.

If Shizuo could listen to only one song for the rest of his life, he'd never let this one stop.


	25. Chapter 25

"Why didn't you tell anyone you can play piano?"

They lie side by side, staring at the plain alabaster ceiling. Izaya's concentration has been fixed on a small, barely visible dot that irks the hell out of him until Shizuo speaks up. The dot, a spider, begins to crawl away to its corner, leaving only the dome-shaped light fixture alone in the center.

"Why would I?"

Shizuo can hear Izaya's hurt tone under the defensive gesture. Translation: "You never cared enough about me to realize such personal details." The day they'd been introduced, the minute Izaya had opened his mouth, the very second their eyes had met, Shizuo had hated him for no reason other than the loathing urge that overcame him to stomp over there and rip that arrogant smirk from his face. And, now that he thought about it, looking back, really, there _had_ been no real reason. Was it at all possible that, if he had met him under different circumstances or if Shizuo had not closed himself off from the start, that they may have actually gotten along?

But Shizuo can't turn back time, so all he can do now is catch up.

"I dunno," he says with a shrug. "It earns a sort of respect, I guess." Out of the corner of his eye, Shizuo watches Izaya's lids slide closed over brilliant dark red that nearly matches the bedspread. He continues. "It's weird. To have known you for so many years only to realize that I never actually… _knew_ you."

"Actually, a lot of people know I play piano," he deadpans.

Shizuo turns his body to face him. Izaya only turns his head, shifting dark locks along his brow and across the pristinely white pillow beneath his head. Shizuo doesn't particularly enjoy the sudden change in his mood but won't say anything. Instead, he's startled.

"Like who?"

A faint grin traces Izaya's lips to remind Shizuo of the old days.

"Dotachin, Shinra and Celty—"

"Celty?" Shizuo sits up on his elbow, then finally upright. He draws his knees in and grasps his head.

Izaya stares blankly. "What is it?"

"Celty knows? Aw man, I told her everything!"

Izaya laughs aloud, the tremor shaking the bed as he sits up against Shizuo. He can see every tone and shape of his muscles in the moonlight, and it makes him want to run his hands all over them — it's like staring yearningly into a display window of ootoro while he's in the middle of a diet. _Resist!_

"I feel like such an idiot," Shizuo mumbles into his arms. Izaya reaches over to run a hand through his hand, causing Shizuo to lift his head.

"Sure, you're an idiot." Shizuo frowns. Izaya gives him a warm smile that quickly melts it away. "But you're _my_ idiot."

Shizuo suddenly dips into his pocket and pops a cigarette into his mouth. It dangles from his lips as Izaya gets his turn to frown. The blue lighter's flame turns his brown eyes molten for a few seconds until the paper starts to burn. Izaya yanks on a small fistful of blond.

"Now you're just an idiot. Don't smoke in my home."

He barely felt the tug at all. He takes a long drag and ignores Izaya. "I missed these. Withdrawal is—"

Shizuo doesn't get to finish his sentence as Izaya lunges for him. The cigarette disappears, replaced with his lips as he climbs into Shizuo's lap. He pries the blond's lips apart with little effort, and Shizuo puts a hand on the small of his back, pulling him closer. The new taste is hard to ignore, and he's not sure if he likes it or not. Izaya moves away and turns his attention to the cigarette that now hands between his own two fingers. He examines it, twirls it, hesitantly brings it closer.

"Jealous of a cigarette?" Shizuo cocks up an eyebrow, drawing the corner of his mouth with it.

"I've always wanted to try one of these," Izaya muses.

"Don't you dare." Shizuo would hate to have Izaya's health suffer from smoking, especially if his hand is injured; he doesn't know if that's actually something worth worrying about, as he hasn't done much research about the effect of nicotine on flesh wounds.

"Then quit."

Izaya cranes his neck back to meet Shizuo's surprised gaze that flitted briefly to the cigarette and then back. Smoke trails to the ceiling in curls and fills the air with a slightly toxic scent. Izaya's nose wrinkles a little, then settles; he hopes the smoke will be enough to kill the spider. His heart flutters at the sight of a glint in Shizuo's eye as his grin widens.

"Is that a challenge?"

Izaya places the cigarette in the palm of Shizuo's hand. His fingers close over it into a fist, putting out the heat, as he throws it on top of his vest on the floor. Izaya's arms wrap around his neck as he leans over the blond, fingers interlacing behind his back, small smile communicating the furthest reaches of desire. Their lips hover just an inch from one another, breath of each ghosting over the other. Torso against torso, longing for the warmth in the naked chill.

"When the knight saves the King's daughter, isn't there always some sort of reward?"

His eyes start to slide closed when Shizuo puts a finger to Izaya's lips.

"What do you like about me?"

Izaya makes a big show of rolling his eyes. "Do I _have_ to?" he groans. His arms tighten around his neck as if he could choke Shizuo with his elbows.

"Come on, I compliment your eyes and all I get is reluctance?"

Shizuo's finger leaves Izaya's mouth, and suddenly he longs for it. But he knows what Shizuo is saying, without actually saying it — he's going to get a reward of his own, but, as always, Izaya Orihara must make a game of it. If Shizuo's going to play hard to get, he's going to make Shizuo want him more than anything he's ever wanted in his life, more than piano music or nicotine or whipped cream-laden coffee. Izaya straightens himself upright and pushes Shizuo back onto the bed.

"You're strong…" he whispers, putting a hand on Shizuo's abdomen. He senses a slight tremor at the touch.

"Something else." The blond's voice comes out strained. Izaya rolls his eyes again, then flicks them up to the ceiling in thought, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek.

"You're sweet…" Izaya lets the word roll off his tongue and revels in Shizuo's reaction. His lids flicker for only a moment, and there's a small twitch beneath Izaya's hips where he's straddling his waist.

"And…?"

Izaya chooses now to lean forward teasingly, hands crawling up his chest in a slow, seductive rhythm. His face hovers over Shizuo's as he moves his hips down a fraction. A hiss escapes Shizuo's lips, and they look more succulent than ever. Shizuo drags his tongue across them, producing a glossy sheen. It's goddamn enticing.

"You're damn sexy. Now put it to good use."

Shizuo pulls him down gently by the neck and crashes their lips together. It takes a moment to find their bearings, kiss turning heated and passionate as Izaya already finds himself shivering. His mouth drops open to let out a shaky, quiet moan, fingers racing along the blond's hot skin. Shizuo presses up and rolls them both until he sits between Izaya's legs, lips never parting, as he grabs his wrists gently and places them firmly over his head. He doesn't resist, but separates for air after a few moments.

"Shizuo…?"

"If you keep touching me, I'm going to go crazy."

His sultry tone sends shivers down Izaya's spine. He taps Shizuo's hand with his confined fingers, and gently, he lifts it away, setting him free. Izaya locks his arms around his neck once more and puts his forehead to the blond's. Shizuo seems a little apprehensive, but a smile from Izaya brightens Shizuo's cheeks.

"I'm fine with losing a little sanity if you are."


	26. Chapter 26

Shizuo awakens the next morning, having had a better night's sleep than he's had in a month. He feels so much more refreshed, rejuvenated, as alive as the pink and orange hue of sunrise that bathes everything in its warm glow. As he sits up to face the window, he realizes he'd been right.

The sunrise _does_ look a little brighter.

He hadn't gone very far with Izaya last night. Touching was all it was, but Izaya's touch is fluttery and his kisses are light, sweet, and enough to send him over the edge regardless. The bright pink hue tinting Izaya's cheeks was the most life he'd seen in the younger man's face in a long time. So much better than tears spilled on the piano.

Shizuo turns and freezes at the sight of an empty space beside him.

Izaya's side of the bed is neatly made up, one corner peeled back, as if he'd never even been there. He feels the bedsheets — they're cool, but only a couple hours cool. Shizuo wonders if Izaya is back to his old ways; back to pushing away, back to keeping everyone at a safe distance, back to feeling "comfortable" with being alone. He jumps out of bed, gathering his shirt from the floor and nearly tripping along the way. Izaya is not waiting to pounce out at him from under the bed. He's not taking a shower past the smooth white door on the other side of the bedroom. He's not working on a hot stove making them breakfast and humming a Beethoven concerto.

Then again, now that he thinks about it, Shizuo would never imagine them as a normal, lovey-dovey husband-and-wife couple. Shizuo wouldn't come in from behind to swiftly plant a kiss on his cheek, and Izaya probably wouldn't be caught dead in the frilly pink apron he imagined just now. That's just not what they are like, together or apart.

As he wanders about Izaya's kitchen — spacious, true to his trademark — Shizuo pauses at the stainless steel countertop of the island, the brief thought of Izaya as possibly a very good cook still lingering in his mind. There's a small piece of paper on it that, now as he looks closer, is a business card.

**_Russia Sushi._**

There are a few numbers on the bottom in minuscule type, but Shizuo knows they're not important. He flips the card over, expecting it to be entirely blank. Instead, on the back he finds the drawing of a sun coming up over the horizon in orange ballpoint pen. Several adorable rays span out from the sun's curve.

Shizuo smiles to himself and places the card in his pocket.


	27. Chapter 27

**Sorry for the delay! Final chapter, here we go~**

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Shizuo grabs the umbrella on his way out, the orange flashing outstandingly against his own black and white garb. He feels out of place when he steps out from the apartment building and realizes he will probably have to get a ride to Ikebukuro. Damned Izaya, choosing Russia Sushi. He manages to hail a cab, the journey awkward and quiet, and has the driver drop him off several blocks away so he can have time to think.

Clearly, Izaya has something to tell him. What, he can't imagine, for the Izaya he had known one month ago, one week – no, one night ago, was not the same Izaya he knew now. Shizuo can't say whether or not people have the capacity to change, but maybe it's true that they can open up enough to change relationships with others. Somewhere along the way, their hate had turned to love, but if people can't change, how will Izaya cope? Shizuo knows in the back of his mind that Izaya will never be able to walk away from pulling the puppet strings, placing the chess pieces, watching over his pawns from that wall-sized window overlooking the brightly-lit city below.

But Shizuo smiles as he remembers those fingers dancing across the keys – light, airy and full of more emotion than his eyes can ever show.

Maybe Izaya will be the same Izaya he remembers. He'll keep on digging through to the deepest, darkest parts of the underground, watching the cataclysm his information causes, eyes swimming with the same vitality and buoyancy he's always had. But, just as Izaya will work around Shizuo's temper and unhealthy (but dying) habits, so too will Shizuo find a way to see past the man's flaws. Because if it's one thing Shizuo has learned from what life threw at him all these years, it's that no one is perfect.

No one is perfect, but two parts can come together to hide the cracks along the other.

The sights and sounds of the city flood back as he returns to the real world. Ikebukuro is its own symphony, a synthesis of people and machines, of beating hearts and gasoline drifting into the air after the rumble of engines to push the wheels forward. Rain against its odd angles feels like the player's own spin on the composer's original harmony. Shizuo lifts the umbrella over his head and shakes it open.

When he reaches Russia Sushi, Izaya stands waiting with his hands hanging in his pockets. The rain's beginning to darken the tan fur of his coat as he gives a small smile below warm eyes. Shizuo steps forward and stops just a meter away from him.

Izaya's head lowers to his feet, and then he rocks his body up, gaze meeting Shizuo's. There's an unusual glimmer darting through those carmine irises, though Shizuo knows it's no longer a look of malice or contempt. Izaya sticks his hand out to the blond.

"Hi, I'm Izaya Orihara. It's nice to meet you."

Shizuo is stunned silent, knowing better now than to think it's just a game he's playing. But his smile is not hiding mischief but openly genuine. He doesn't say anything more, leaving his expectancy hanging in the air.

"Uh…" Shizuo pauses, staring at Izaya's outstretched hand as if it's a foreign object. When Izaya says nothing, Shizuo takes the hand into his own, still confused but nonetheless going with the plan. "Shizuo Heiwajima. Pleasure."

Shizuo suddenly turns the umbrella on its side, bright orange facing the spanning street. Behind the opaque dome, Shizuo pulls on Izaya's hand and brings him in for a kiss, removing the grip to place his fingers along the small of his back. Sweeping a tongue along his, Izaya kisses back, encircling the blond's neck and leaning in closer, never wishing to let go. As they part, Izaya grins all too familiarly.

"Do you kiss everyone you meet like that?"

Shizuo smirks, cocking an eyebrow that causes Izaya's heart to flutter a little against his ribcage.

"Would you be jealous?"

They move in to kiss again. Shizuo ignores the umbrella's shield and lets it drop to the ground, exposing them to a few shocked Ikebukuro citizens. There are artificial snapping sounds coming from a small speaker, _kchk kchk kchk_ as Karisawa snaps shot after cellphone shot from the parked van. It draws the attention of Tom, who was in the middle of asking Kadota where his bodyguard might be when Yumasaki points out the lovestruck pair.

"IzaIza and ShizuShizu really did it! Yumachii, you'd better be taking notes!"

The others find their jaws dropping and take several long hard looks to make sure it's really Shizuo and Izaya. In close proximity. Not fighting, but kissing. And as they all watch the two part from one another and Shizuo grasps for Izaya's hand as they begin to walk, Tom can't help but smile a little.

"They look happy together."

Izaya squeezes his bandaged fingers around Shizuo's hand. "C'mon, bring the umbrella up or we'll both catch colds."

"I thought you said you couldn't catch a cold in the summer."

He taps his fingers along Shizuo's knuckles to a more upbeat tune in his head, pausing for the right words. "In my experience, it seems that the summer rain makes anything possible."

Shizuo leans the umbrella against his shoulder, letting it curve out behind them in a circle that draws the two together. A ball of orange, rising to meet the challenge of warm against cold, opposites crashing mutely.

"Then I'm fine with a little rain."

They will get lost in the other's eyes. They will never tire – but if they should, by any chance, then they will get lost in the other's sound. And if that too grows to be insipid, then the pianist will learn a new piece again and again, because Shizuo can never have enough.

Through every obstacle, through every disaster, through every hardship and through every patience tried, they will always find a way to rhyme.

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**Thank you all for reading! I'll have another fic or two coming up shortly~!**

**EDIT: APOLOGIES! Thank you Nadia141491 for reminding me that I promised to post the piano songs I used; so, without further ado, here it is!**

**Chapter 1_ - Comptine d'un autre été _by_ Yann Tiersen_**

**Chapter 2_ - Nocturne, Opus 9, No. 2 _****by** Frédéric Chopin

**Chapter 4_ - When The Love Falls _by_ Yiruma_**

**Chapter 10_ - Love Hurts _by_ Yiruma_**

**Chapter 19_ - The Things You Are To Me _by_ Secret Garden_**


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